


eyes

by sadomasochism



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inappropriate Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadomasochism/pseuds/sadomasochism
Summary: Tom Hiddleston's a lonely man. How'd a university student figure it out?





	1. half-baked

**Author's Note:**

> hi, if you saw this empty before i posted the chapter i'm so sorry, i got excited and i jumped the gun. as one does.

"I don't see why you're still in bed. It's been a month," Mom said over the sound of the sink running water. I guessed that she was probably getting ready for my dad to come home from work. I rolled my eyes, grateful that we weren't on FaceTime so she didn't see me do that. "Enjoy your summer! Get over it. He's just a boy. What did Rihanna say again? 'Boys will be boys, because they can't be men,' right? Listen to Rihanna! I'm kinda getting tired of you crying to me every day. It's not like you're dying."

"I wish I were," I groaned, then hung up before she could say anything to me about that remark. Then I flipped over since my back started to hurt from lying down for so long. I stared at the time on my phone. 5:35pm. Jesus Christ. I groaned again, a long, disgusted noise that echoed the pain rippling through me - I'm being melodramatic and angsty, I know - and forced myself to get up. Without hesitating, I grabbed my towel and went to take my first shower in three days. Okay, gross, I know, but I was fucking heartbroken. Cut me some slack.

I'm not going to describe to you how I take a shower. If you're reading this, you better fucking know how to shower.

"Stop it," I said to myself as I dried my leg and then covered it in lotion. "One foot was always out the door anyways. Stop it. He wasn't ready. Stop. It wasn't your fault." I guess I was just wishing I was the one who left first. I dressed myself in a fresh baggy white t-shirt and black Nike sweat shorts, then walked out of the bathroom. I ran into my roommate, Emma, who'd just come home from spin class. We were both about to start our last year of undergrad at NYU - she was a marine bio major, and I doubled in clinical psych and film studies. Gotta keep your options open. "Hey," I said.

"Done moping for the day?" she asked, dropping her keys into our bowl by the front door. Emma was very to-the-point. That's why we lived together. Neither of us couldn't stand not being straightforward.

I cracked a smile and shook my head, my towel nearly falling off as I flopped onto our sage green canvas Ikea futon. "Not even close. I have a date."

"Oh, how'd you know?" Emma called from inside her room. I heard her slam a drawer shut.

I propped my feet up on our vintage coffee table and turned on our Craigslist TV. Then I realized I was missing something, so I got up and headed to the kitchen, where I rummaged around for a clean spoon. I was definitely not ready to make up for all the dish duty I'd been taking a leave of absence from. "With a pint of Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked. Wait. What did you just say?!"

Her door closed momentarily. Then it opened again, and she was half-dressed in lingerie and jeans. She yelled into our very small kitchen. "You have a date later. I got you a date."

"You brought me another pint?" I asked, mouth full of ice cream.

She appeared in the adjoining dining nook, a white tank top layered over her black lace bodysuit. "Yeah, and someone attached to it."

I dropped my spoon, and it landed on my black-painted toes. I used them to pick up the spoon and drop it in the sink. One of my more redeeming qualities was toe dexterity. "What are you fucking talking about?"

"I'm kidding, relax. Are all our spoons gone because you've been wedging them up your ass?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I thought that was you. Okay. But seriously, like, what are you saying?"

She pulled out a spoon from the cutlery drawer and handed it to me. I thanked her quickly and lodged the spoon underneath a chunk of cookie dough. "Drew's coming over and he's bringing a friend. I'm not saying you'll like him or anything, but... Drew said he's your type."

Mouth full of melting ice cream, I replied, "I don't know if I trust your fuckbuddy's idea of who he thinks I am, but sure. Is his friend emotionally unavailable and younger than me? Because I think I'm done with that phase."

"No, he's smart and talented."

"Oh, he knows how to manipulate and he's good at it?"

Emma shot me a look on her way back to her room. "Not every guy is like that."

I pointed my spoon at her. "You should know."

She gave me the finger as she put her shoes back on. "7 PM! Wear something nice." And then she shut the front door behind her.

"'Wear something nice,' my ass," I grumbled, trudging into my bedroom. I set the ice cream on my dresser and paused, crossing my arms and staring off into space.

I sighed. "Okay, fine. But at least clean first, you giant toddler."

I stripped the white floral sheets off my bed and replaced them with a fresh set, this one in blue. I put the old bedding and all of the dirty clothes strewn about into my laundry hamper and lit a Diptyque candle since I wanted to be kind to myself for once.

I made my way to my tiny, overstuffed closet and tried to pick out something that was easy enough to wear at home but nice enough to make an impression. Unfortunately, I hadn't been out of the house in a long fucking time so my first attempt was a dark green plaid miniskirt and a black tank top. I shook my head at that. Too much. Okay, straight-leg jeans and a t-shirt it was, then. I could hear my best friend Preston's voice in my head. "At least make it a tight one." Fine. I found my Radiohead t-shirt from middle school in the back of my pajama drawer and put it on. I looked at my reflection. In the words of Rihanna, "The only time I'm looking back is if my ass is in the mirror". And my ass did not disappoint.

"Okay, I'm still fucking hot," I grinned, and yanked the towel off my head. "Much better."

My phone vibrated. It was Emma, telling me "you'd better be getting ready. and go put the ice cream back in the freezer". How the fuck did she know that?

I put the lid back on my beloved pint and stuck it back on my side of the freezer. Then I went ahead and washed everything in the sink. It was nice to accomplish something again, even if it was small. At least I was doing something! I connected my phone to the Bose speaker in my room and hit shuffle on my entire Spotify library. Of course, "SICKO MODE" by Travis Scott started playing, and I really could not help myself. I skipped past Drake's opening verse (as one should) and went to the beat drop. I yelled along as I made my bed and picked up everything that was scattered around my room. Then I sat at the makeshift vanity/dresser configuration I had going on and brushed out my wet hair.

"Maybe I should have done this before I washed it," I muttered, tugging at the comb midway through. "Ow, fuck." As I did this, I engaged myself in the longest staring contest I'd ever been subjected to. I might have been going through the worst post-breakup depression I'd ever experienced, but at least my skin was still nice. And my eyebrows were finally growing out since I had no energy, desire, or motivation to pluck them. There were some benefits to heartbreak, I guess.

I saw my Glossier perfume bottle glaring at me from its spot on my little jewelry tray. "Okay, _fine_." I sprayed myself just on my neck and in my hair. Then I finally did my skincare routine and I felt like a newborn baby. Dare I say that the prospect of meeting someone new was exciting me? About fucking time. My anhedonia was starting to become worrisome.

"Sheeeee eyes me like a python... when... I am... weak..." I sang along exaggeratedly to Kurt Cobain's voice as I made bedroom eyes at myself in the mirror, putting on black eyeliner as if I still knew how. "I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box... for... weeks..."

Mmmm, I knew my self-esteem hadn't completely fucked off just yet. I was looking more and more like myself again.

"HEY! WAIT! I GOT A NEW COMPLAINT! FOREVER IN DEBT TO YOUR PRICELESS ADVICE!" Then I was yelling once more, strutting around my small bedroom and kicking my legs about. I cranked up the volume and went into the living room as "R U Mine?" by Arctic Monkeys came on.

Commence head-banging and air guitar solos.

I did not hear the door open.


	2. nightcrawler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that last chapter was a fake-out.

"Oh my God, don't you knock?" I shrieked, scrambling for my phone to turn the music down. Of course, I had to accidentally hit the skip button instead, and the next song that started playing was “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira. Drew and the guy behind him laughed. “Fuck…”

Emma rolled her eyes and brushed past me to go to her room. "I live here. No need to knock. Say hi to Drew."

"Hi to Drew," I grumbled, sliding across the floor in my Nike socks to give the big blonde idiot a handshake.

"Hey, kid," he grinned, and ruffled my wet hair. I swear to God I was going to kill him if he did that again. It was annoying enough that he was my ex-boyfriend’s older brother. ”How's it hanging?"

"We get it already, you graduated, I'm not a kid, you white crayon.”

"White crayon?" the other — rather British — voice asked, peering from around Drew's massive football player frame. ”What do you mean by that?"

I, not being able to resist answering as I stared Drew down, still shaking his hand, said, "White crayon. Absolutely useless."

The other guy chuckled as he stepped into my line of view. "You're quite funny. You must be Chelsea. Drew’s told me a lot about you.”

I almost couldn’t control myself. Thank God I didn’t faint. Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I was dressed like a sexy middle-schooler. My fight or flight response was activated. My eyes widened as I shook his hand, which was quite soft to the touch and firm in its grip. It was a fucking miracle that I didn’t just disintegrate on the spot. “Oh. You’re… you’re... Tom Hiddleston... yes… I know you… um, could you excuse me for a moment? I just have to do something really quickly.”

He nodded. “Of course, of course, go ahead.” God, he was way fucking hotter in real life. The prettiest blue eyes. Clean shaven, wearing a navy blue sweater, very fitted skinny jeans, and black suede Chelsea boots. And don’t even get me started on how he smelled. My mouth watered. Was I… was I going into heat or something? God save me, please.

“Um… okay thanks I’ll be right back um just make yourself comfortable on the couch!” I managed to stammer out. Drew was already in Emma’s room, getting a head start on the foreplay, so I went ahead and left Tom Hiddleston alone on the futon and dashed to my room. I promptly grabbed one of my memory foam pillows and screamed into it as loud as I could. I did that twice, rearranged my bed as it was, then put my hair that was slapping me in the face up into a bun. Okay, getting somewhere. Against my better judgement, I reached into my bedside table’s bottom drawer and fished out one of my pre-rolled joints and a black Bic lighter. I hadn’t smoked in weeks, surprisingly.

I balanced the joint between my lips and lit it, only to get the wind kicked out of me as I inhaled when someone knocked on my door. It was Tom, and he definitely heard me scream because he asked me if I was okay. I stood there stock-still like an idiot before I had the sense to turn to the side slightly so I wouldn’t exhale fucking weed smoke into Tom Hiddleston’s beautiful face, and then my actual idiot self went, “Sorry, I just… panicked.”

He smiled, dimples and all, giving me his signature “ehehehe” laugh. I swear I was sweating a little. He was so, so, so handsome. Pictures did not do him justice. “A little starstruck, aren’t you?”

He was also very charming.

I’m pretty sure I turned as red as the cherry on the end of my joint. “Um, yeah. Sorry about the smoke. I just… I need to calm down. There’s a lot going on right now.”

As if on cue, Drew moaned on the other side of the wall.

“Gross. Um, sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it, darling. We all have our own necessities, don’t we?”

“Uh… ah… yeah, I think I need to lie down.” We both jumped slightly at the distinct sound of a bed frame hitting the wall, followed by another moan. “Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry. This apartment is just full of secondhand embarrassment.”

This awarded me another chuckle. Was he laughing at me? Or just to be polite? One thing was certain: I still needed to calm the fuck down. I took another puff off the joint. “Again, no need to worry. Do you need help getting to the bed?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” I took his arm and he guided me to my own bed like I was blind, deaf, and mute. I slumped down onto it as gracefully as I could while the actual Adonis standing in front of me watched intently. “You can sit down, if you want. It’s okay. I don’t bite.”

He did indeed sit down, and then I realized that he seemed rather sheepish as well. I scooted around rather clumsily so my feet were propped up on my headboard and my head was where my feet normally go, so I could look at Tom upside-down. How was he so hot at any angle?

“So why did Drew bring you along?” I asked, swinging my legs about as I kept my eyes rolled up, trained on his jawline.

Even inverted, he looked rather sexily awkward, sitting on the corner of my bed. “Ah, his sister asked me to hang out with him.”

My legs froze mid-air. “Wait, how do you know Sutton?”

“She’s a casting director, right? Who is also dating my publicist, so it seems.”

I took a hit off my joint, my words coming out of my mouth in thin clouds. “Small world. I used to date her brother.”

“Yeah, Drew told me on the way here… and said not to bring it up. I mean, that I shouldn’t bring it up.”

“Oh my God. Drew thinks I’m a baby.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

My sigh was cut short with a hiccup. “I’m a big girl, I can handle it. It’s been a while anyways. Did he… did he tell you what happened?”

Tom nodded, lips pursed tight. “Yep.”

“Jesus Christ. Okay, now it looks like I don’t have to even be in front of you to embarrass myself.” 

He laughed. I paused. And then I asked him if he wanted a hit.

“No pressure, Tom. You don’t have to. I just thought it’d be rude of me not to offer.”

He hesitated, and I’m sure as a celebrity he was thinking about the repercussions of his actions. I silently thanked myself for making my parents keep me out of the limelight as I got older. While we’re on the subject, I guess I should just come out with it. My mom is ex-supermodel, hotel heiress Carlotta Trinidad and my dad is Hollywood action star Connor Winters. 

Crazy, I know. 

How am I not in the spotlight? I stopped appearing in public with them after my tenth birthday, and soon enough everyone just kinda got the hint and left me alone. Weird, I know. People respecting other people’s privacy. So I knew I was lucky. I got to live the normal life I wanted. As close to normal as I could get. 

Sometimes it was sad, having to see my parents in secret, but I always remembered that it was my choice, and it wasn’t like they were embarrassed of me or anything. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They wanted me to use my name. They wanted me to make appearances. They wanted me to be famous, since the door was already there for me, waiting to be opened. But they always respected my decision. I could always change my mind, anyways.

“Pass it here, then, darling,” he said. I giggled and our fingers touched briefly as I gave the joint to him. I swear to God I felt all the hairs on my body stand on end, and they stayed that way as I watched his lips lock around where my lips had once been. He coughed through his inhale. “Yikes, sorry, it’s been a while.”

“Hold on, I’ll get you some water,” I said, still laughing to myself as I wobbled back to the kitchen to get a water bottle from the fridge. I came back, shut the door behind me, and handed it to him.

“Thank you.”

“No problem!”

Drew moaned from behind the wall. I pounded my fist against it before deciding to turn my speaker back on. Then I went back to my bed to lie down, this time in the right direction. “No Surprises” by Radiohead started playing rather aggressively in the background. I took my lighter and lit the joint again. I tried not to blush as I felt Tom’s eyes watching me.

“You like Radiohead?” Tom asked, and for a moment I thought he was staring at my boobs. He was. I took the joint back from him.

“Uh, yeah! I grew up listening to them; my parents took me to their show when I was ten. That’s where I got this shirt. Do you like Radiohead?”

“Interesting birthday gift for a ten year old. And yes, I do, but not as much as the Stones.”

“I’m sure you hear this a lot, but I’m not like most girls... and by saying that, I become like most of them. Also, the Stones are way different from Radiohead; it’s like saying you like ice cream more than pizza.”

“Ehehehe. You’re quite funny.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s from years of emotional trauma. Not from my parents, though, they’re cool. It’s from my past relationships. Oh my God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying that, we just met. My guard is usually up. I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? I swear this didn’t happen the last time I smoked. But then again I was alone last time.”

He smiled. Now we were staring at each other, and I was finally high enough to chill out a little. “I’m happy that you’re comfortable with me.”

“Well, you’re not a serial killer, so that’s a start. Why don’t you lie down, too? You look so uncomfortable.”

“If you insist. Your standards must be very low if me not trying to kill you is what it takes.”

I snorted. The joint was on its dying breath, so I reached over to my nightstand and stubbed it out in the Saint Laurent ashtray my mom bought me, from one of our secret trips to Paris. “Tell me about it. Another embarrassing thing about me. No wonder I — never mind.”

“You get flustered easily. It’s adorable.” No, sir. YOU are adorable.

Beaming, my inebriated, confident self went, “I’m glad you think so, Mr. Hiddleston. Just wait until you see my party tricks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What can you do?”

“You’ll have to just wait and see.” That was my thing, actually. That was the summer where I’d spent most of my time moping and the rest of my time learning skills that were more entertaining than useful. I kicked ass at Guitar Hero and karaoke and Jenga and Dance Dance Revolution, and could read palms and tea leaves like no one’s business.

“Great! There’s actually something happening tonight, Drew was telling me that you’re coming as well?”

“Drew is so funny if he thinks that I’m leaving — wait, are you going?”

Tom nodded with a smile. “I am.”

“Ugh, goddamn it. I guess I’ll come, too. You’re lucky you’re so likable.”

“Good, I’m glad. I assume we’ll leave as soon as Drew and Emma are, uh, done, I suppose.”

“Then that means we’re going to wait for a while. Can you promise me something?”

“I’ll do my best. What is it?”

“Could you not leave me alone later? Parties make me nervous.”

He put his hand over mine. “I can definitely promise you that.”

Pause. Silence.

“Hey, Tom?”

“Yes, Chelsea?”

“What should I wear?”

— 

(Tom’s POV)

I neglected to tell Chelsea that Drew was actually trying to set us up together, but I could tell she was rather smart, so I’m sure she at least had a feeling. When Drew initially proposed it hours before I met her, I was hesitant — not on my part, but on hers.

“You’re lucky my idiot brother dumped her. She’s real pretty — but not like white girl pretty, more exotic-looking — kind of mouthy but a sweetheart deep down. You’ll like her, I promise.”

“She sounds lovely. But.. what if she doesn’t like me?”

“Dude, you’re literally a real life Prince Charming. Like, you could probably steal Sutton from Luke without even trying. Look, I can text her and ask her what she thinks of you.”

“Drew, by all means, please do not do that. What kind of impression would that make?”

“She’d say that it says more about me than it does about you.”

I shook my head. “Absolutely do not text her. Dating as it is is hard enough.”

“Hey, don’t get too ahead of yourself there, thinking about dates and shit. We’ll be lucky if she even agrees to go out tonight. My brother really fucked her up, honestly. He’s so stupid.”

So I considered myself lucky indeed. Drew’s description of her did her no justice, and I’d only been around her for about an hour. There was definitely more to learn, I was certain. There was so much life bubbling out of such a small body. Reserved yet energetic. Open yet mysterious. Rather silly, but endearingly so. However, I was not expecting her to ask me to dress her. I was typically regarded as well-dressed, sure, but in my day-to-day I often wore the same outfit. And so there I was, going through her closet as she laid on her bed. I turned around to glance at her. Angelic. And 17 years my junior.

“You okay? You look like you’re in pain,” she giggled. “It’s not that hard. Just clothes. I don’t even know where we’re going, so I thought you should pick.”

Fumbling through her clothes, I pulled out a short, silky black dress with lace trim. I held it up. “Is this alright?”

Another laugh. “You’re so cute. Lingerie as outerwear? I’m always game.”

It was finally my turn to blush. “This… is lingerie?”

“Hahaha, yeah. I’ve never worn it as such, don’t worry. I don’t think I’ve ever even worn it at all! I might as well do it tonight.” She got up off the bed and strode over to me. She looked up at me, dark eyes sparkling with mischief as she took the garment. “I’ll go pick some shoes.”

I sat on her queen-sized bed, waiting as she changed in what I assumed was her bathroom. I took that time to take in her room — it was quite large for a New York apartment, with white walls and black tiled floors. She had a TV mounted on her wall and all her furniture matched. There were film photographs taped up on the wall behind her bed. Upon closer inspection, I gathered that many of them were with her parents, who looked very familiar to me.

Then it hit me.

Her father was Connor Winters.

I was standing in the bedroom of his daughter. The fiercely private, has-somehow-not-been-seen-since-childhood, daughter. 

She came out of the bathroom as I was still gawking at the photograph. The distinct sound of heels clicking on tile wasn’t even enough to turn me around, but out of my peripheral vision I could tell the dress was quite short and her heels were quite high.

“Oh, shit—“

I faced her. “You’re—“

“Yeah. Surprise?”

“I’m... I’m a huge fan of your father’s.”

She laughed. “Yeah, everyone is.”

Someone knocked on the door. “Hey, you guys ready to leave?”

Chelsea opened it, and Drew and Emma were on the other side. “I could ask you both the same question.”

“Car’s outside.”

“Then why ask us if we’re ready if we’re going to have to leave right now anyway?”

We got into the black SUV and headed to the club. I wasn’t really one for parties myself either, but Luke and I had business to do in New York and I guess part of that business was at 1OAK. I felt Chelsea’s leg start bouncing next to mine, and when I looked at her she was staring out of the window. “Are you alright, darling?” I asked, putting a hand on her knee to steady her. We were squished so closely together in the car that she was practically on my lap.

She nodded. I could smell her perfume, but couldn’t put a finger on what that scent was. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“The fact that we’re here already and I’m not ready,” she said as I opened the door.

I stood outside to help her out of the car. The paparazzi weren’t around, thankfully. “Remember, I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

She smiled, and her grip on me tightened. Her hands were soft, with fingernails painted a light blue. Her skin was cold. “I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Hiddleston.”

A real man keeps his word.

It wasn’t difficult, either, since she made no effort to get up and mingle. Especially not when her ex-boyfriend showed up. She spotted him as soon as he walked through the club doors.

“Drew,” she hissed across our private table. “What is he doing here?”

Drew shrugged. “I told Sutton to tell him not to come.”

Emma gave him a look. “Did you remember to hit send?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Drew!” Chelsea groaned, and in her exasperation I watched her finish her drink, an Aperol spritz, in one go. She promptly stood up and turned to me. “Can we go get more drinks?”

“How much alcohol can you handle, little miss?” I asked her. But I was already standing up behind her.

“I’m not exactly sure, honestly.” Her hand absently wandered behind her and I stared at it, before she wiggled her fingers, indicating that she wanted me to hold it.

When we got back to the table, drinks in hand, Sutton was sitting there, with Luke, my publicist, and Nico, her younger brother — and Chelsea’s ex-boyfriend. Drew had told me their breakup was particularly nasty and if I wasn’t mistaken this was the first time they’d seen each other since the split.

“Hi, Chelsea!” Sutton chirped. “You look so cute. As usual.”

It was as if the girl’s blush spread throughout her whole body, because her skin warmed under mine. “Hi, thank you!” Then she turned to Nico — a babyfaced lad with the Weston signature warm brown hair and green eyes. With a curt nod, she addressed him tensely. “Nico, Tom. Tom, Nico.”

I shook his hand. They stared each other down until Luke broke the aggressive silence. “Tom! Nice to see you!”

I raised my glass to him. “Luke! I just saw you this morning. This is Chelsea.”

She reached across the table and shook Luke’s hand. “Hi. I’m Chelsea... Winters.”

“Oh, like Connor Winters?”

“Um, yeah, he’s my dad.”

Luke choked on his drink. Sutton’s eyes widened.

“He’s what?!” she gasped

“Oh, Nico didn’t tell you?”

The night continued on, with Luke and Sutton discussing business and pleasure and pleasurable business with me and I could sense that there was a high level of irritation at the table since Drew and Emma had gone to dance and Nico and Chelsea were trying to ignore each other.

I watched Chelsea finish at least two more Aperol spritzes before she finally started going to the bar alone. 

“And there’s the thing about Greta’s movie, she wants me to find a new face but everyone I find isn’t good enough for her and I’m going batshit crazy—“

“Why not ask Chelsea?” Luke suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Nico said, glaring at me.

“Absolutely not what?” Chelsea snapped, her words ever so slightly blending together. She’d just come back from the bar, this time with two drinks — a grasshopper, and a vodka tonic for me. 

“Someone’s got a sweet tooth,” I murmured in her ear.

She giggled. The straw wobbled out of her mouth. “Depends, is your middle name candy?”

“Sorry to interrupt the PDA,” Luke chuckled, “but would you be interested in auditioning for an upcoming film?”

Chelsea paled immediately. She got up from her seat once again and walked off.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I finished my drink, then found her outside, crying. I rushed over, and she immediately wrapped her arms around me. She’d had a lot to drink and I was sure she was very overwhelmed, what with seeing Nico and accidentally letting Luke know her identity and being asked to audition for Sutton’s movie and even just being out of her apartment. Poor little thing. She looked up at me with lost puppy eyes, and I stroked her hair.

“I wanna go home,” she mumbled against my chest. “Can you take me home?”

“Back to your apartment?”

“Can I go with you? Promise I’ll be good.”

I weighed my options. She had no purse with her, so I assumed she not only forgot her phone at home, but her keys as well. I definitely could have found a way to take her back to her apartment, but if she wanted to stay with me, I couldn’t say —

“Please? You promised not to leave me.”

I let out a chuckle, and before I knew it I’d pressed my lips to the top of her head.  
“Oh, bunny. I think it’s me who has to behave.”

I called for a driver to take us back to my hotel. I got us to the room just fine, but as soon as we were inside I realized just how drunk she really was. She’d quietly been wrapped around me the entire ride through Manhattan, her hands in mine and her cheek pressed to my shoulder.

Then she started talking.

“You’re so pretty,” she mumbled, sprawled out on my bed with her shoes still on. “How are you so pretty?”

I laughed, but her compliment had gotten to me. I couldn’t see it. I shook my head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“You’re funny, too. Not funny like me but you’re so... so... likeable... thank you.”

I looked up from rifling through my suitcase for a t-shirt to let her wear. “For what?”

“Taking care of me. Like Nico.”

The blush on my face faded away and I felt a scowl take its place. “He took care of you?”

“Mhm. Until... until he decided he didn’t want to anymore. And that I wasn’t enough for him.” She sniffled. “Tommy, what are you doing over there?”

Ignoring the lead weight in my stomach, I answered, “Looking for something for you to wear.”

“I’m in... I’m in a slip already! You don’t like it?” she pouted.

“You look exquisite, darling, but I’d be more comfortable if you wore something less revealing.”

“O-Okay.” She slumped back against my pillows, her black hair fanning out behind her. “You’re really nice. I like you. Very much. Can you help me take off my shoes, please?” 

I walked over to the bed and handed her one of my white t-shirts. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into but I tried not to linger when her feet were in my hands, the soft skin of her legs merely inches away from my face. “There you go. I’m going to be in the bathroom while you get changed, alright?”

She nodded much too enthusiastically. I shut the door of the bathroom behind me and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. I shed my clothing. Then I slipped into my pajama pants.

I came out to find Chelsea drowning in my shirt, struggling to pull out the sides of the crisp hotel bedding tucked beneath the mattress.

“Need some help, bunny?”

Her voice was soft, eyes halfway shut. One little hand reached for me as she yawned. “Can you tuck me in? I’m sleepy.”

“We’ll both go to bed. Come on, you lie down now,” I said, pulling the sheets out and over her small frame while I slid in beside her.

“You smell nice,” she murmured. Then she curled up against my side and nuzzled into my chest. “And you’re warm.”

“I’m glad you think so, little one. Goodnight?”

“Goodnight.”

I reached over and turned out the light. Regret could wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things move fast in New York, don’t they? :)

**Author's Note:**

> you thought we were going to meet tom in this one, huh?


End file.
